


Doll Parts

by blackeyedgurl



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Confusion, F/M, Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedgurl/pseuds/blackeyedgurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She comes to him in the night, but what is left of him to see?</p>
<p>Set during the events of Spy in the House of Love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doll Parts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a long time ago, when Dollhouse was still on the air. So, anything that doesn't mesh with the world post-Spy in the House of Love, is due to not knowing!

_She comes to him in the night._

From what he can tell now, nothing in his life is real. It’s an insane thought, and he quickly tries to remember if anyone in his family was a paranoid schizophrenic. From what he can recall, the answer is no, but there’s no one left to call to verify such information. He’s an orphan, the product of being an only child and parents who died far too early. He has no way to confirm that this isn’t the paranoid machinations of a broken psyche.

_She comes to him in the night. She is hard lines and a smart mouth. She has the programming of a killer._

He wonders how far back this lie begins. Who was his ex-wife really? Was the short arrogant fuck at work a real agent, or some sort of mole? What about the young doorman down stairs who has been reading the same book for the last two years? Maybe all of his informants were like her too, like November.

November was the month of his birth. He’s sure that they know that and perhaps it’s some sort of inside joke to them. He’s sure that his file with them is thicker than the one the FBI holds. November told him not to tell Mellie anything, but what she didn’t realize she was telling him was that deep down Mellie has all the answers he needs. She just doesn’t know it. He wonders if there’s some sort of trigger or switch he can set off.

_She comes to him in the night. She’s gone AWOL and it’s dangerous. The pout of her mouth draws him to her just as much as what she represents: answers._

How long ago did his life become no more real than the lives of the dolls he sought to free? Was he no better than Mellie or Caroline, November or Echo, any of the number of bodies trapped in that world? He seemed to have no more control over his life than they did. It was now wildly apparent that no matter how much he tried he couldn’t break free of their peering eyes, their ears, their spies. He lived a lie at someone else’s command. He wants to know who’s footing the bill for this one, or if Mellie has been sent out pro bono.

_She comes to him in the night. Her breath is a psalm, her body a litany; he has no choice but to pray._

Who was Mellie before she was November? She seems like she might have been a Katie or maybe a Rebecca. Something plain, unassuming, unremarkable, a name which never quite fit her until it was no longer hers. They had taken her because she was so normal. There was nothing there to suspect, she wasn’t the sexy dangerous type. She wasn’t Caroline.

Caroline was less of a mystery, but no less intriguing. Someone had dropped hints of who she was before she was an Echo.

_She comes to him in the night. He is her knight in shining armor: salvation, protection, restoration._

He wonders why no one reports them missing. There is no missing woman named Caroline who resembles her in any meaningful way. If he had the chance he’d like to run November against the database. She seemed like the kind of person who would be missed. She might have been unremarkable, but her kind heart must have been tied to someone. Maybe though, they are all like him, maybe they have no one left. Perhaps the ones who do they program with their old personalities and send them home once a year. He doubts it.

_She comes to him in the night. Tears run down her cheek. She’s broken and needs him to fix her._

November told him to figure out the Dollhouse’s real purpose. The thought had crossed his mind that something more was going on, but the truth was he just figured it was some service that the rich and powerful utilized; it didn’t need a larger purpose. Now that he reconsidered it, he realized there could be so many things they could be up to.

Maybe they were harvesting organs, or growing them. Maybe they were cloning people. It seemed most plausible that they were going to use this technology to build a better weapon. If you could wipe out a person, fill them with soldier, send them out and wipe them when they came back, well you could turn anyone into a warrior. Perhaps they were trying to see if they could program robots with human personalities, memories, thoughts. Maybe Echo and November weren’t even people any more, they could be robots. That last idea made him laugh, that was science fiction, a ridiculous notion. Maybe the dolls and the technology were just a front for something even worse.

_She comes to him in the night. The frequency is increasing, something is happening, something is changing, within her and around her: evolution._

Without Mellie his connection to the outside world has been severed. The only people he communicates with are the people who deliver him food. He’s alone in all of this, just like they are. He’s starting to understand the isolation and desperation which must drive not only someone to utilize the Dollhouse’s services, but maybe to join them, to become a doll. There has to be a reason, a catalyst, for no one goes into slavery willingly. He was sure it wasn’t sold to them as slavery, but he can’t see any other explanation for what it is. Who doesn’t want to be themselves? Who doesn’t want an identity? Who doesn’t want a soul?

_She comes to him in the night. Rain soaked and desperate, she has a message for him. They’re underground, they’re scared, and they’re hurting._

He wonders if he is a doll. He doubts that they know what they are, but he wonders if he might. This could all be someone else’s game entirely. Maybe they programmed him to be Paul Ballard, to see just how easily someone could find their clandestine operation. They drop breadcrumbs to see if their little pigeon will follow. It’s safe to slip their secrets to him because some day he will be recalled to base, and he will also cease to exist. He’ll go back to being Delta or Ivan or Charlie.

He doesn’t feel fake. He doesn’t feel like programming. He knows within him there is a soul. Do they still have their souls?

_She comes to him in the night. She screams, he wakes, and all that’s left is an Echo._


End file.
